watches

(The horrifically named) Pimpin' Ain't Easy by TokyoFlash

The Tissot T-Touch

Anyone who knows me, knows I love watches. At last count I had about 28 different models ranging from the inexpensive to the moderately expensive. Sadly my fascination has no bounds and thus there are few commonalities that exist between most of them other than the fact that they can be worn on your wrist. Favorites? It depends upon my mood. Lately, I've been sporting my Alfex, the most expensive of my collection, for its clean lines, solid heft and class Valjoux jeweled self-winding mechanism. On the techno end of the spectrum, I presently favor my Tissot T-Touch, a watch that features touch screen access to compass, chronometer, thermometer, altimeter barometer and alarm functions. I'm also partial to my Swiss Army watch, a Calvin Klein branded watch and my Porsche Design watch (my first big investment in my collection). On the "playful" side of my collection, I have an led-arrayed watch from Japan called the "Pimpin' Ain't Easy" watch (yes, I know, I know, present-day Japanese culture is a peculiar thing - to the extent that it sometimes makes me cringe, but hey, it is in my DNA after all). It actually sports a total of 72 LEDs and lights up like a Christmas Tree. It takes a minute or two to figure out what time it is, but the fact that it flashes on in a pre-determined geometric pattern with such luminosity - well, in spite of its ugliness, I find it mesmerizing.

I've dramatically curtailed my consumption of watches over the years even though my philosophy used to be you can never have too many watches. I've concluded that watches hold a fascination for me because of their elegant utility and accessibility. They are right there on your wrist when you need them most. And now, with the advances of technology, you can take photos with them, access telephone numbers, schedule appointments, predict the weather, measure your heartbeat, time events, find true North and yes (with the accuracy of an atomic clock), even tell the time.

leonard cohen

Less than 2 weeks ago, I posted the lyrics to "Suzanne" by Leonard Cohen. Coincidentally, I stumbled across information about Leonard Cohen in the latest issue of The New Yorker magazine in the "Night Life" section. It reads:

"The great bard of Montreal returns to this newly restored Art Deco theatre for his first U.S. concert in fifteen years. Cohen, now seventy-four, published his debut book of poems "Let Us Compare Mythologies" in 1956, when Bob Dylan was only fifteen. He went on to write several more books (most notably, the ground-breaking novel "Beautiful Losers") before Judy Collins launched his music career with her 1966 rendition of his mystical, yearning love song "Suzanne." In the mid-nineties, the enigmatic Cohen largely retreated from the music world, abandoning live performances and living in a Zen monastery outside Los Angeles, where he was ordained as a Buddhist Monk. In 2006, after learning that his longtime personal manager had drained most of his life savings, he returned to the stage offering dark, melancholic masterpieces like "hallelujah" to a generation hungry for gnomic, religious wisdom and worldly storytelling."

coloring book, copyright and ISBN

We recently commissioned a local artist to produce a themed coloring book centered around the Golden Rule. The artist is a middle-age woman who is exploring her artistic talents now that her children have grown and moved on to their own lives. My assistant fortuitously met this artist at Staples where she was waiting for the copy center to finish printing and assembling a modest coloring book she had designed.

The commissioned book is progressing quite nicely and we will soon be ready to go to print with a printer we have utilized for previous books. Since this is my first involvement with the marketing component of the actual publishing arm of my employer's business (she has three separate ventures - her established art gallery, a publishing company and the non-profit organization I head), I've had to learn how to apply for a copyright on the book, how to obtain an ISBN and the bar code for the pricing. I revel in bureaucratic processes. It's been an interesting ride and I can only hope that one day this experience will come in handy as I publish my own book. Even at my age delusions continue to thrive.

Cornelius Muse

One of my life-long friends from college, Celeste (see post "how to kill a rattler," August and September 2008), wrote a short story many, many years ago about a character she named Cornelius Muse. Cornelius was an albino polar bear and since polar bears are white, an albino polar bear with the absence of his normal color, is black. I bring this up only because it inexplicably popped into consciousness today and I thought at the time she wrote it (and still believe it to be so) that it deserves mention SOMEWHERE for its sheer cleverness.

I never told Celeste this, but I had subsequently tried to expand upon her premise. In my story, because of his prominent color, Cornelius could not successfully hunt for food. Although he was not shunned by the other polar bears (for polar bears are remarkably sympathetic), Cornelius internalized this shortcoming. Although he could reason he was not to blame, it nevertheless stung emotionally and in the end, he could not overcome the feeling that he was a failure. As a result, Cornelius embarked upon a course of study fueled by overcompensation to combat his feelings of inadequacy. He studied with Balanchine for a time (this all took place many, many years ago), apprenticed with Frank Lloyd Wright (they bickered constantly due to Wright's monumental ego). He attempted to become the first bear ever to cross the English Channel, but was thwarted by poor timing and a complete disregard for weather forecasts), etc.

In the end, Cornelius realizes that one's worth is assessed internally, not externally by the accolades of others (for by that time he had amassed considerable recognition and awards).
Cornelius realizes that he has grown over the course of his many studies and experiences. He has above all, retained his good heart (I'm summarizing here) and as a result, touched many lives. Cornelius returns home to the warm welcome of his family and friends (who by now have heard of all of his accomplishments), happy and content.

Celeste, this is dedicated to you.

chance encounters

Over the years, I have come to know a lot of people. I'm not bragging here, it's just a consequence of living in one place for most of your life. The interesting thing about all of these associations though is I rarely, if ever, encounter anybody I know during the course of my every day duties. I find this odd.

I'm sure some mathematician can explain this scientifically, postulating about our movements and the probabilities of an overlap at precisely the same time and place over a given geographic "orbit." From personal experience, I can attest the odds are very, very slim that this overlap will manifest itself.

I'm not complaining as I'm a very private person. I have been known to take extraordinary measures not to be seen when I do catch a glimpse of someone I know at the supermarket for example, abandoning my fully-laden cart and bolting for the hardware section where I pretend to be absorbed by the variety of available light bulbs for an inordinate amount of time until I feel the coast is clear.

I suppose because of the rarity of most encounters when they do transpire, I attribute them to fate or some greater law of convergence, ascribing perhaps a greater significance than is really warranted as to why I am seeing a particular person at a particular time. As an example, I recently ran into an old college crush a total of three times in three different places over the course of two weeks. I resorted to my typical avoidance behavior the first two times, but decided to act upon the third occurrence speculating that perhaps the greater law of convergence was at work and that it would persist until I responded. The circumstances were made even odder by the fact that I had just had an interaction with this woman's daughter only moments earlier, before making the connection. (This was at a conference) I approached this woman and we had a delightful talk, whereupon she suggested we get together for "coffee" or "lunch" sometime, giving me both her cell number and e-mail address. While the encounter was entertaining enough and conjured up fond memories of college, I of course, never contacted the woman again. The whole "three" sightings thing was just too spooky for me and my personal edict is to stay away from old college crushes. So take that, Convergence.

It deserves mention here; the oddest chance encounter I experienced happened in San Francisco several years ago. My wife, Joni, and I were on vacation there and we had just hopped onto a bus on Market Street; sitting two rows in front of us was a former classmate from Joni's Yale Law School days in Connecticut! The woman was riding to her office after having lunch down the street. I would have to speculate the mathematical probably of that chance meeting taking place was astronomical. Nevertheless, such chance encounters do occur.

I continue to be vigilant.

new website - less is more

Denis Phillips, the co-owner of Phillips Gallery, asked me to help him put together an ad for the New Yorker magazine recently. The ad featured one of his paintings and although rather small, has already generated some interest. As a result, Denis asked me to quickly put together a website for him. (We had put a page up originally, so we could list a URL for prospective buyers.) Although I accomplished this in a few short hours today, I think for a preliminary website, it didn't turn out too badly.

Check it out at : www.denisphillips-studio.com

lockpick, locksport

I've been engaged in practicing the art of lockpicking for the last couple of months. It's become an obsession with me. I'm not sure how it all started, but not surprisingly there are many resources available on the web to facilitate this "sport."

The term "locksport" was coined by a practitioner at some point to delineate between the trade as practiced by true locksmiths (or for that matter, burglars) and the hobby aspect akin to "hacking" simply for the challenge of opening a lock. The truly captivating part of locksport is the finesse one must develop to become proficient in hacking into a lock. It requires mental visualization of the internal lock mechanism, a keen sense of touch with the fingers of both hands and a moderate amount of dexterity. I have not yet mastered the art, but I can open certain deadbolt locks within 30-seconds, while some remain impenetrable to me. The "newness" of the lock and the specific manufacturer create variabilities in the "feel" and susceptibility to picking. Alarmingly, overall, lockpicking is not as difficult as you would hope. There are inherent manufacturing defects in the production of a lock that make it defeatable. I was both pleased and horrified the first time I picked the deadbolt on my own front door.

In general, if somebody wants to break into your house, they will probably opt for the fastest methodology possible, which usually involves breaking a window in the back door and gaining access that way. Also, in the world of lockpicking, there is something known as the "bump key," which is essentially a key that is cut in a certain way to facilitate a general alignment with the internal mechanism of a given lock. Once inserted, turned, and "bumped" with a hammer or tool, a bump key can open a lock in the same time it takes to use the real key. There are videos on the web of six year-olds opening a lock with a bump key after one-minute of instruction. The net of all this is, if you really want security, expensive locks are mandatory (consult a locksmith) and install a security alert system.

Oh, and don't worry about my new found skill. I intend to use it for good instead of evil.

more great lyrics - Suzanne by Leonard Cohen

Suzanne takes you down to her place near the river
You can hear the boats go by
You can spend the night beside her
And you know that she's half crazy
But that's why you want to be there
And she feeds you tea and oranges
That come all the way from China
And just when you mean to tell her
That you have no love to give her
Then she gets you on her wavelength
And she lets the river answer
That you've always been her lover
And you want to travel with her
And you want to travel blind
And you know that she will trust you
For you've touched her perfect body with your mind.

And Jesus was a sailor
When he walked upon the water
And he spent a long time watching
From his lonely wooden tower
And when he knew for certain
Only drowning men could see him
He said "All men will be sailors then
Until the sea shall free them"
But he himself was broken
Long before the sky would open
Forsaken, almost human
He sank beneath your wisdom like a stone
And you want to travel with him
And you want to travel blind
And you think maybe you'll trust him
For he's touched your perfect body with his mind.

Now Suzanne takes your hand
And she leads you to the river
She is wearing rags and feathers
From Salvation Army counters
And the sun pours down like honey
On our lady of the harbour
And she shows you where to look
Among the garbage and the flowers
There are heroes in the seaweed
There are children in the morning
They are leaning out for love
And they will lean that way forever
While Suzanne holds the mirror
And you want to travel with her
And you want to travel blind
And you know that you can trust her
For she's touched your perfect body with her mind.

a moment between strangers at a movie

Once in a while, there's a "bonding" moment you have with a total stranger. You know, a sort of random act of kindness or a moment or recognition that takes place between two strangers. This weekend, I went to see "The Wrestler" at the Broadway Theater, a local venue for art house movies. Over the many years of theater-going I've developed the habit of remaining seated until the last credit rolls. This is primarily a sort of homage to all of those involved in the making of the movie. Occasionally, I will actually see the names of people I know. For instance, I have frequently seen Bruce Fowler credited for scoring the music for some of the movies. Bruce used to be a part of the Unversity of Utah's music department. Also, Jim Gemmill, the guy who taught me calligraphy. seems to have fallen into Set, Art Design and Background Scenery for some pretty heavy hitters. He moved to London many, many years ago to become an artist, where evidently, he became involved in the movie industry. In "the DaVinci Code," for example, all of the famous paintings you saw in the background were actually paintings he replicated. He has also contributed to the "look" of some of the Harry Potter movies.

Another good reason to stay until the end of the credits is that some directors actually REWARD viewers who remain with a little extra scene or tidbit. Some of the specific movies elude me now, but "Ironman" is one that comes to mind. (Yes, I see a wide, wide range of movies.) There is a final scene that advances the plotline as a set-up for the next installment. "Cinema Paradisio" is another. There is a key reunion scene at the end of the movie that provides the big emotional pay-off you were hoping for.

But I digress.

As I mentioned, I went to see "The Wrestler." As usual, I remained until the end of the credits. My wife, Joni, and I were the only two people left in the theater. As I rose from my seat, I glanced at the projection booth, where I locked eyes with the projectionist. He smiled and motioned me to wait. He then gestured towards the screen with a tilt of his head. As I turned to look at the screen, the trailer for the new "Terminator" movie began to run! It was like a private screening. When it ended, I turned back to the projectionist, pointed at him and gave him a "thumb's up" sign to acknowledge his unexpected "gift." He simply laughed and waved.